Lucrezia was fourteen years old and a woman of great and varied experience before the Pope succeeded in arranging for her a marriage which suited his ambition. Such a marriage as would have been worthy for a daughter of Cardinal Roderigo Borgia was no longer good enough for Pope Alexander VI. He sought for her an alliance among Italy's princely houses.
It was thus that she became bestowed upon the Lord of Pesaro with a dowry of 30,000 ducats.
The Lord of Pesaro, Giovanni Sforza, himself no more than a youth, thus provided the Pope with much desired stronger relations with Milan — albeit Giovanni himself was no more than a bastard of the powerful Milanese house of Sforza.
The nuptials were celebrated with magnificence in the Vatican, and culminated in a supper party given by the Pope to which ten specially picked cardinals and a number of the ladies and gentlemen of Rome were invited.
After a meal of much good food and more good wine, the Pope announced a special attraction and following on his words some fifty courtesans were brought in and set to dance with the servants.
Many among them were of considerable beauty. They were well known to the Pope, the majority of them having already shared his bed.
The dances were stately and well-performed and the guests applauded politely, wondering what was so special about a spectacle which one could see at any Roman ball.
But, just about the time when those present were beginning to get a little bored with the dancing, Alexander clapped his hands. And at his signal, both courtesans and their partners stripped off their clothes and continued the dancing stark-naked.
There was an appreciative buzz of excitement at this unexpected novelty in the holy place. The men felt their pressures rise as they examined the stately sway of some of the most curvaceous bodies in Rome. The ladies, for their part, tried discreetly to hide their enormous interest in the flopping lengths of meat which dangled between the husky servants' legs.
The Pope, well flushed with liquor, stretched back in his chair and appraised the comparative qualities of various breasts and buttocks. To his nearest male neighbors he gave descriptions of the bedworthy qualities of many of the female dancers, while the ladies within earshot sniggered and replied with quips about the men's pricks, wagering on how big they would grow, which would be the longest under cultivation.
Already having anticipated this argument, Alexander clapped his hands once again and, continuing with their dance, the courtesans, each time they came into contact with their partners, gave a quick, expert rub or tickle to their organs until the latter were rising up majestically.
“Now you will have the answer to the problem,” the Pope said with a chuckle to the Lady Manfredi who was his nearest neighbor. Her hand stole over to his lap and pressed him playfully at his genital region.
“I'm sure there can be no better than the holiest,” she said with a grin.
The Pope leaned toward her with a smile.
“You flatter me,” he said, “but modesty prevents me from comment. Perhaps you would like to join me in consideration of the possibility after the spectacle.”
“You are very bold, Roderigo,” she replied softly. “But a bold man usually gets what he wants.”
She gave his penis a squeeze and withdrew her hand, smiling, to turn her attention back to the scene.
All the servants had big erections by this time. The great cudgels soared out from them like artificial fixtures. In spite of what must have been some turmoil in their loins, they contrived to keep poker faces as the Pope had previously ordered.
The eyes of the spectators were goggling. It was the first time most of them had seen such mass nudity and such mass sexual excitement so openly displayed. Many a prick and many a cunt, well hidden by clothes and the festive tables, was hot with desire at the sight.
Another sign from Alexander and more servants appeared with huge baskets of apples, with the centers hollowed out so that only an outside husk remained. These were fitted onto the stiff rods of the nude dancers, so that they clung more or less closely to their reddening-to-purple knobs.
There were gusts of uproarious laughter throughout the great hall at the comic sight of the artificially bloated knobs which had changed color to green, yellow and rosy-apple pink.
Still with perfectly serious faces, the servants sank to their knees on the beautiful mosaic floor and remained kneeling while the laughter shook the chandeliers.
As the first wave of hilarity from the guests began to fade into a ripple of private titters, the naked women dancers knelt down on all fours with their backs toward each of their partners. There was a fresh craning of necks, goggling of eyeballs at the fresh views which were presented of juicy crannies and a frequent fuzz of soft, many-colored pubic hair.
Slowly, without looking backwards, the courtesans moved back until the apple-bloated pricks were touching the soft flesh between their thigh-tops. Then began a series of hip and bottom-wrigglings as they tried to work the apples into their vaginas. It became clear that the idea was for them to swallow the fruit in their orifices and then withdraw it if they could from the male organ it surrounded.
Cardinals watched with panting lips as vagina after vagina opened and distended and tried to ooze around a rosy apple as the woman it belonged to pushed gently back.
“It's a race,” the Pope confided. “The first woman to get the apple off can choose the biggest penis to delight her in bed tonight.” The fascinating race was on. Some of the women seemed unable to expand their holes sufficiently to get them around the large husk of apple. They were forced to rub against and around the fruit until their juices began to flow and they were able to slip backwards more easily. Others got halfways impaled but could get no further, while still others soon got the whole of the apple inside them but couldn't pull it off the prick, which had in most cases expanded within the husk.
The male servants were very excited and many of them gripped the hips of the woman kneeling against them, whereupon they were warned that they were not allowed to help her task in any way.
In some cases, careful watchers suspected that a woman was really making little effort to remove the apple, but was, on the contrary, trying to keep it in place while she jogged excitedly back and forth on it and the hilt of prick behind it.
In fact, the race appeared to be something of a put-up job for the benefit of the spectators' lustful instincts, for it certainly wasn't won quickly and soon every woman had swallowed the apple in her crevice. But each continued to push sexily backwards and forwards on her apple-crowned staff.
At last, however, one of the performers contracted her organ tightly and determinedly around the bulging apple which was killing her with its size and pulled it off its stem of prick with a fierce sucking 'plop' which was heard throughout the hall. There was an immediate, raucous round of applause and a number of the spectators stood up to get a clearer view of the winner.
She was a slim, dark girl with top-heavy breasts, surprisingly slim hips and strong, unusually big thighs. She was kneeling with her head hanging as if in exhaustion, her lips apart, the apple spreading her vagina and presenting it as a large, fruit-filled cavern. Her partner's rod was red and chafed from the friction of the apple during her efforts to remove it. He, too, was panting and had fallen forward onto his hands, his stomach heaving deeply.
The Pope stood up and clapped his hands yet again. There was a gradual slowing down of the tempo in the hall. Reluctantly, the remaining couples recognized that someone had succeeded. There was a cascade of fresh 'plops' as one after another they followed up their achievement. Now they were in a hurry for the last to succeed was to be refused sexual intercourse for two months.
One by one the apples were swallowed in expanding clefts. At last all the apples had been confined in their moist and temporary dwelling-places. The servants stood up, showing off the extended proportions of their stimulated stems.
“Right, honorable gentlemen,” the Pope addressed himself to the guests. “I'm sure you'll all agree we've just witnessed a delicious spectacle. What will happen to the apples? Well, gentlemen, it's not often that you can have tasted the finest fruit inundated with the finest love-juice. So the ladies will now pass over their delectable morsels for your gourmet taste.”
With that, the courtesans divested themselves of their fruit as if dropping babies from their wombs. Some squatted and ejected the apples with a straining effort into their hands; others opened their slits with their fingers and pulled out the fruit that way; others still allowed their partners to spread their nether lips and pull out the slippery spheres.
Each of the women then carried her issue to the long banqueting table and presented it to a man of her choice-a cardinal, a knight, a baron, whoever took her fancy.
The apples were wet, slightly slimy. Each recipient eagerly took the fruit, raised it to the donor and then bit into it with relish, swallowing great mouthfuls.
The courtesans watched with gleaming eyes, smiling at the avidity with which the orbs from their crying orifices were munched in the mouths of the princes and prelates.
Alexander gave a fresh order and the woman who had first managed to suck the apple from her bloated branch looked around at the specimens of genital rigidity. They were of all lengths and thicknesses-little to choose between them. She walked among them, feeling them for heat and fleshiness and eventually she chose that of a handsome young man whose prick was so shaped that it grew thicker and thicker from knob to base. Thus she would be ensured of fresh delight and surprise through all its length.
At a sign from the Pope, the servant pushed the woman face forwards over the banquet table. He seized a banana from a cluster in a nearby basket and thrust it into her exposed channel from behind. In and in he jogged it while the spread-eagled strumpet wriggled against the heavily draped edge of the table in front of a hundred pairs of high-ranking eyes.
For some minutes the servant shoved the banana into her, holding it by one ripe, yellow end until it had almost disappeared. Then he withdrew it at last and with the first sign of animation he'd shown, rammed his tapering prick into her moist cleft.
The ladies present didn't know which to look at most, his handsome, passion-wracked face or his enormous, penetrating penis. They watched in a thigh-rubbing fascination as he thrust deeper and deeper and the woman, bent under him, her breasts crushed against the table, groaned and pleaded for more.
He had settled down to a steady, moan-drawing rhythm, gripping her table-flattened hips, pulling at the same time as lower down he pushed, before Alexander glanced at where Lady Manfredi was wriggling on her seat, a slight smile on her lips.
“It pleases you to see such a scene?” he whispered with a smile.
“I can think of only one thing to please me better,” she whispered back, glancing significantly at the place where his organ was hidden by his robes.
“We needn't wait for the end,” he said. “Cardinal Rovere will take over.”
“Let's go then,” she said. “I can't wait.”